Obfuscation
by Unfocused Shot
Summary: Sometimes when you leave a place, you never expect to return. Five years post TDK. Nolan-verse Harley. Chapter 10: Resurrection
1. The Meeting

_A/N: This story is currently seeking a beta. Please PM me if interested, or if you have any suggestions. _

_November 2012_

There was something decidedly sinister about the motley crew that had sequestered themselves away from the typical bar patrons. A twisted, turning corridor leading from the dance floor, through the kitchen and past the main offices ended here; a sizable room with dark wallpaper. Tiny vines and leaves danced down the walls in a supplicated yellow and the table, a large and dark bore the scars of heated arguments. The chairs had red velvet cushioning and were certainly less battle weary than the table. The sound of loud, bass heavy music was mostly muted this far back in the lounge but it was enough that the air was never silent.

The room was spoken about in hushed whispers, but the people in the room were spoken about in a much quieter, more urgent manner. On their own, they were frightening. When they decided that they were having a get-together all Gotham could do was duck and hope for the best.

There was a brunette at the table with girlish features and a grace that suggested she once danced who sat beside a red head woman, clearly bored and impatient. The man at the head of the table babbled on and on about what both women considered to be a foolish plan. He was young, new and too hot-headed to be taken seriously. Far too eager.

A chuckle floated through the air from the end of the table and the young man scoffed and asked what the joke was. He was rewarded with more laughter, a careless shrug, a lip smack and then encouraged to continue.

Harleen decided she needed to at least give the boy credit for continuing. She brushed her newly brunette hair from her eyes and stole a secretive glance at the scarred man who laughed. It had been a year since she'd seen him last and another since their tumultuous relationship had come to a close. When she had heard about the meeting and it's guests she quickly decided that going in as a blonde, in her old costume would just egg him on. It was _too_ easy to encourage him and when he wanted to play, he played.

While she dyed her hair, she prayed for an anonymity that she was mostly sure this box of _Chocolate Swirls_ would not provide. Their last meeting had left them both with a bad taste in their mouths and she was fairly sure he hated her. Harleen decided that at minimum he must have been affronted when he couldn't find her. She could give Gotham's police force very little credit with anything other than the witness protection program.

Why she was even invited to this shin-dig was beyond her. No longer a major player in Gotham's crime scene and even when she was, she was a sidekick. Not exactly the main event. Inconsequential arm candy. With a hammer.

The Joker's gaze slipped sideways to meet Harleen's and he gave her an amused but intense look. It promised trouble and Harleen decided that he was still very angry. He had every right to be she supposed, he planned and hoped very little in his line of work and when those once in a lifetime plans go unexpectedly wrong he always got very upset. She remember vaguely once when they had wired the city hall to explode, connected and rechecking every little piece and detonator to only have forgotten one essential wire. Four goons were shot, she received a black eye and she could have sworn that the Bat had laughed the tiniest bit at the Jokers expression and battering of the nullified detonator. It was a bad night. And he was in such a foul mood that he couldn't even chuck the mishap up to chaos.

He remembered very little about the past, so for once in his life could he have forgotten about her?

That was too much to ask.

She couldn't decided whether or not returning his gaze would make him back off or incite him. Would being passive cause him to lose interest or make him think he could walk all over her? If she stared right back would he take it as a challenge? When they had started seeing each other (dating seems like the wrong word to use), she couldn't always understand the subtle facial and body cues that revealed his mood. After a year they were second nature and a few months more she was at times sure she knew better than he did. Not that she'd ever admit that to him. He liked her spunk most of the time. She was more attractive to him when she had some fight in her, just as long as she was independent behind closed doors. Challenging his authority in front of the goons or other (super)villains was never an option and was a lesson she learned from the start.

The danger seemed to soften slightly from his smile and was replaced with playfulness. He had decided for her, quickly smacked his lips and returned his attention to the speaker, unable to look unamused. It was the same look he'd given her in their first few sessions, enticing her to embrace chaos. It had been one of his favorite games.

Harleen felt an elbow nudge her and she turned to focus on Pam instead and the raised eyebrow that the staring contest had earned her. Pamela hadn't been keen on informing Harleen about the invitation, concerned that perhaps that this new life that Harley had made for herself was one she really had wanted all along. It sure had seemed that way at first.

Harley performed quite the disappearing act and for the first few months forcing Pam to assume that she had died. That notion cemented itself in her mind the one time the Joker demanded Harley's whereabouts. She was sure he'd admit to killing her if he really had, if just to rub it in her face. He left her hideout more disgruntled then he entered and her with a few less ferns. Pam planted cyclamen for her and mourned privately.

It wasn't until June that she had received the first sign of life. A telephone call, from a number she didn't recognize and an area code she had never seen before.

"Pam?" asked a quiet Harley, "I'm sorry I didn't call before. It's just I wasn't sure if I could really get away from there. I'm alive, obviously, and doing well. I've got a new name, and an apartment and I'm teaching kindergarten. Really, I know, kindergarten. Well I'm not even really teaching, just assisting. Well it's not blowing up hospitals at least. I'll call again. I miss you."

The next time Harley left a message, she at least left an email address that Pamela could contact her with. She never picked up the phone when Pam called, and Pam suspected that she was using a pay phone. The area code led her to a small town on the west coast, close to Seattle, but Pam left the search at that. Harley wouldn't give her the assumed name she was living under or the name of the man she was very briefly engaged to.

Pamela received the invitation to this sham of a planning session and cautiously informed her friend of the details. Harleen was admittedly uncomfortable. Why send the invitation out to a woman who is missing and supposedly dead? Pam was shocked when upon her doorstep a few days later was Harley, looking soaked from the rain with a bag in her hand, but overall healthy. Pamela scraped the heist she had planned for the night and the two caught up.

Harley had let her hair grow a bit and it now just reached three or four inches passed her shoulders. She wasn't as sickly thin as when Pam had last seen her and she seemed to at least be cheery. She told Pam about the small town she stayed in, her job, her neighbors but it seemed like there was a disappointment edged into all the stories and especially when she asked to be called Harleen. Determined but disappointed.

Harleen then told her about Las Vegas and Pamela had half a mind to put her back on that plane and send her back to that hole-in-the-wall town she was living in and far way from Gotham. Far away from _him_. They dried and then dyed her hair later that evening, Harleen having pick up the box on her way from the airport. The dress was purchased the next day, (Harleen insisted on purchasing) and it was a generic affair. A sleeveless, scooped neck cocktail dress in red and black and a pair of black ballet flats. If Harleen demanded anything that day, it was for mediocrity.

Pamela's attention returned to the young man and his proposition. Admittedly, it wasn't completely awful, it just needed some tweaking. A healthy dose of reality really. The kid, an Emilio something-or-other, was related to the Maroni's. He was power hungry clearly and quickly becoming a favorite. From what she understood so far he a) wanted the mayor replaced, b) wanted the docks region really, _really_ united in debauchery and c) was keen on a supervillian team up. Well fuck that.

"Well ladies and gents, whaddaya say?" Asked the kid, leaning in the table with both hands and watching their faces eagerly. Eddie, Oswald and Crane just stared, Harvey flipped his coin and gave the boy a thumbs down. Pam and Harleen glanced at each other, at Selina and then all three copied Harvey's gesture.

The Joker just laughed.

"And_ um_, what did you hope to _entice_ us with? Hm?" His tongue darting quickly to the left scar.

"The money," the kid shot back. The Joker snorted quietly, giggled and Harleen was sure this kid was going to die in the near future, if not on a bad day then surely by his own stupidity.

"Well my dear boy," started Oswald, "we will be sure to think it over thoroughly and contact you as soon as possible." He gestured politely towards the door and the young man took his charts and presentation material with him with only a slight huff. Pamela and Harleen rose to leave and Oswald gestured to their seats.

"Oh, sit! Stay. Drinks all round I think," cried Oswald, "it's been forever since we've seen you Miss Quinn!"

"Your looking healthy for a dead woman," added Harvey. He had been still raw about the Dawes woman when he had discovered her identity, and who slept in her bed. The first time they encountered each other, he told her how pretty she was and brushed a piece of hair from her face. The Joker broke his hand.

The second time he flipped his coin and the encounter ended in a stalemate with him being unable to reach his gun and being strangled by Harley's legs. They both considered the fight to be ongoing but unscheduled.

"I have good skin," she replied daintily. Harvey smirked a little and downed a glass of whiskey that Oswald had poured earlier that evening. "And a flight in the morning I'm afraid. So you boys will have to excuse us for the evening."

The Joker decided to watch her again, catching her eyes and giving her the slightest hint of the danger to come. His tongue darted out quickly to the scars and his lips gave a quiet smack before he spoke.

"Harls, what is it that you _do_ do. Hrm?"

"I teach kindergarten now." She said softly continuing for the door. He laughed. She still wasn't sure if she hated how he laughed and quickly exited with Pam.


	2. The First Session

_A/N: I own nothing that DC does. Also, you reviewers, PM-ers and people who favorited are my favorite people right now. _

_December 2008_

"Hello. My name is Doctor Quinzel and I'd like to speak to you today before your appointment with Dr. Harold." She said crossing the room and sitting down at the table. She pulled out a mechanical pencil and quickly jotted down something on the notepad she carried. He watched her bemusedly. She had seen him when the first brought him in, purple, laughing manically and covered in greasepaint, but not like he was now. Sitting quietly, a bland expression and makeup-less.

"Are you here to _treat_ me? 'Cause if you are then I'm sure you could just reread those notes of yours and the other doc-tors and I'm sure it'd be the same. "

"I'm not here for that." She admitted and he raised his eyebrows theatrically.

"Oh? Ou? Then what are you here for?" He said in a sing-song voice.

"I'd like you to tell me about the boats." She said, flipping a few pages into her notes. "You were quoted as calling it a 'social experiment'. I'd like for you to talk about that."

A wheezing laugh spilled forth and he leaned in closer his elbows resting on the desk. "Do you? Do you re-ally?"

She nodded. "What was your hypothesis?"

"Why. That the _good_ people of Gotham would blow the _baaad_ people of Gotham to smithereens!" He attempted gesturing an explosion but was hindered by the handcuffs. Harleen remained impassive, jotted down a few notes and then glanced up at his face. His expression went from joyous to quizzical. He watched her intensely for a few seconds and briefly sucked on the right scar before she posed another question.

"Alright. Why -"

"- Why are you here," he asked darkly. " Your not asking me about mummy or daddy, or the Bat or the fact I prodded one of your colleagues eyes with his pencil until it popped out and danced across the floor." Harleen tried to remain impassive but her forehead wrinkled slightly in dread. "Now doctor, would you consider yourself a schemer?"

"A what?"

"A schemer. Do you have plans? Do you make plans? Are you a planner?"

"Short term or long term ones? Short being anywhere between 'what happening today' and "what happening this week" And long term.. being months to year plans?" She asked and he gestured as to indicate either.

"I make some short term ones I suppose, but nothing in the range of long terms."

"And why not? You obviously planned your education? I'd say your a planner."

"I have... no desire to map out my future. As for my education....There wasn't anything else better to do. Or at least nothing that was appealing. People's brains are at least interesting which is more than I can say about most things. Like... I don't know... banking?"

He laughed again, this time it seemed more genuinely amused than cynical or demeaning.


	3. The Airport

_A/N: Double Update! Yay!_

_November 2012_

"Well I could defiantly have used a drink after that one." Said Harleen as they exited the club. The night air hit them and Harleen was reminded that this was late November and the wet cold that Gotham subjected to them at this time of year was normal.

"I swear to what ever cosmic force that is out there that if the two of you are playing footsies the next time you see each other. I'll bury you myself." Grumbled Pam. Harleen giggled.

"Lucky for you and I, there isn't going to be a next time."

* * *

Well if anything, he supposed, she was still pretty. The hair was too dark for her and the dress was forgettable. She was _Harleen_ now. The boring side of her. Somehow more boring then when he'd first met her. He laughed. Nearly didn't recognize her. This little dark haired thing had walked in with the redheaded bitch and he figured that Red had finally found herself a girl-toy. She had sat down at the table, turned to say something to Nigma and when he had finally gotten a look at her face there wasn't any question of who she was.

He considered briefly dragging her from the room and showing her what it was like to be made a fool of. The thought buzzed and flickered incessantly and then that made him giggle and she turned and stared at him. He could see the thoughts scamper across her face. What would she do? What would _he_ do? He smiled when he finally got a glimpse of Harley. It was present, under all these layers of self repression and boring.

She was still his Harley.

* * *

The snow drifted down lazily from the sky and Harleen tugged on her gloves while maneuvering herself out the door of the cab. The airport was a fairly busy place, people were all to eager leaving Gotham in favor of warm vacation destinations. Well, any vacation destination in general, it didn't have to be warm. She quickly checked in, bought herself a muffin and a magazine before sending herself though the security checkpoint.

Her name was Sandra now, Sandra Montlea. She had laughed at the name when it had been assigned to her and still sometimes had to think twice when signing documents. She hoped she came off as cautious rather than a woman who didn't know her own name.

She didn't look forward to the several flights ahead of her, what should be a one flight trip with a bumpy bus ride afterward would be a three flight trip with a very bumpy bus ride afterward. If witness protection made anything difficult, it was the traveling. She couldn't help but think that the Commissioner would be disappointed when he found out. She wasn't supposed to come back, ever. Of talk to anyone from Gotham, ever.

She'd supposedly never even been to Gotham.

The commissioner really had worked hard for her, she thought resignedly. The attorney general wasn't too keen on even considering her for anything other than then Arkham, and then maybe the lethal injection. But Gordon had come through for her and she agreed to get help for her mental health out of state. She just had to hold up her end of the deal and disappear.

Calling Pam had been the first indiscretion and she thanked God that she was just able to leave a message and not actually talk to her. Had Pam been on the other line who knows what could have been said to make her come running home. The emailing was just impersonal enough that Harleen could keep her distance. Harleen had nearly called J once. Just once.

It was a warm summer day and only a few days after the end of school. Harleen was cutting up apples in her kitchen and dipping them in fake caramel sauce when the television announcer was reporting that the national guard were being called into Gotham. She choked on one of the apples as one of J's videos was played on the screen. He had tortured one of the officers that had been responsible for putting her on the plane. She quickly dislodged the offending apple and listened carefully to the dialogue between the two and was relieved when this had nothing to do with her.

He was a dirty cop, and had double crossed the Joker, who was now holding what Harleen surmised was a sharpened toothbrush. The television cut back to the disturbed looking newscasters. They collected themselves, reported the current death toll and began talking about her. A picture of her in full costume and makeup flashed across the screen.

"...assumed to be dead. In other news-"

...Dead. They thought she was dead. That was.. perfect. She laughed a little in relief and tossed herself onto the couch. As she stared at her ceiling, a sense of dread built up in her gut. They thought she was dead. Really, actually dead. No Bat, no Gotham, no police.

But this also meant that J thought she was dead.

"Dead," she whispered to herself, unbelieving. She wondered if they gave her a funeral, and if so who would have come to it.

She also quickly decided that J wasn't the funeral type. Did her mourn her though?

When Tom came over that night, he was surprised she wasn't hungry or in the mood.

"I'm just not feeling too good," She murmured softly, having put on her pajamas and curled up in bed. "Timmy wasn't feeling great a few days ago, I musta caught whatever he had." Over and over in her head she replayed the opposite scenario. She imagined J was dead and she was left with nothing to bury. She told herself over and over again that he was never comfortable with the term 'relationship' and it was possible he didn't think of her at all.

She spent the next few days staring at the phone from her bedside. Tom would bring her soup and stomach medicine and Harleen would tell him he was better than what she deserved.

"You deserve everything in the world Sandy," he would reply and would then kiss her forehead.

She managed to pull herself out of bed the next day and for the next week went about her business like nothing had happened. However, the phone seemed to always be in view out of the corner of her eye and in the middle of week three she broke down and pulled out the shoebox she hid at the top of her closet. It was taped up in a violent fashion and it took Harleen nearly a half hour to peel the tape off the box. She figured if she was getting into this box she was going to have to really work for it, and there would be none of this easy hack and slash with a pair of scissors.

A second box was revealed in the first and the words "put this back in the first box" had been scrawled across the top. A third box was revealed and the words "don't do this to yourself" was scrawled across that one. Inside this box was a small address book containing the few Gotham phone numbers she ever needed. Never being one who was good with phone numbers, she always resorted to writing them down or programming them into her phone.

"Harls," he would admonish her, "it's not like you've got more than _five_ to remember." She'd smile, perhaps giggle and leave him to tinker with whatever dangerous device he was playing with in the next few days. Eventually he'd leave the table to tinker with her. Even if it felt like forever before he would.

Harleen quickly flipped through the book until she found his number. Punching in the area code, she decided she'd just quickly let him know she wasn't dead. The next three numbers after that changed her mind and she'd tell him she was coming home. Three more numbers had her excited to be packing and before her finger came crashing down on the last number, she stopped herself.

What was she doing?

Hanging up the phone, she went to sit on her bed. This was...too much like the old her. Impulsive and disregarding of her own safety. She went back over to the phone and this time, called the operator, asking if there was a way to block outgoing numbers.

Harleen was started out of her own memories with a beep from the loudspeaker telling her that passengers on flight 307A to Chicago were unfortunately about to be delayed. The snow was coming down hard now and the pilots were having trouble landing the aircraft. Harleen looked out the window that was across the room and saw that yes, the snow had gone from being a light dusting to a full blown snowstorm. She quickly got up and checked the departures board. Her plane was only being delayed an hour, and that would still be plenty of time for her to catch her second flight.

That hour morphed slowly to three hours.

After four it was canceled. The airline staff were kind enough to give her a voucher for a direct flight to Seattle and asked Harleen if she had anyone to stay with in Gotham. She replied she did and the staff then informed her that her travel insurance should cover some of her food costs while she remained in Gotham and should reimburse her for the flights she missed. She just needed to make sure she kept the receipts.

Sighing to herself, Harleen trudged towards the airport doors and began calling Pam on her cell phone.

"Pam," she sighed. "The snow has murdered my travel plans. Am I still welcome to crash?"

Pam replied with a squeal of happiness, and Harleen was momentarily confused. Pamela was not one to ever squeal in girlish happiness, that was very much Harley Quinn territory.

"Of course you can! How long do I still get to keep you around for?"

Harleen laughed and replied that she would try and get on another flight tomorrow.


	4. January to April 2009

_A/N: I dont own anything DC does. Also, this plot bunny is keeping me firmly planted at the screen and far away from any of my other work. _

_January 2009_

When the power went out, it was pure mayhem at Arkham. Everything operated on electronic locks and when the power failed the generator typically kicked into gear immediately. It was not that the power going out was unheard of but the consequences typically were not as spectacular as this.

She was suturing herself up near the window, covered in sweat, blood and who knows what else. It was the first time he had seen her in such an intense state, most of the time she hovered between impassive and questioning. He was sitting on a hospital bed, handcuffed with a nurse quickly patching up a gash on his forehead. They had been on opposite ends of the cafeteria when it happened and he had gathered from bits and pieces of the other patients stories how she 'd managed to get stabbed.

There was always a moment of silence before the generator kicked in but this silence had stretched on uncomfortably and soon both the doctors and the disgruntled patients realized this was going to turn into a free for all. He had relished as pandemonium broke out, laughing and provoking mayhem. Harleen on the other hand had received undue attention from some nameless inmate, bashing her pretty face against one of the tables before throwing her down upon it. He had heard that she'd grabbed a metal cafeteria tray, swung around and caught the patients off guard and in the face. He had dropped and another had stabbed her arm with a dull, plastic butter knife. He perhaps remembered a female shriek, but he could not be sure.

Frankly, he was impressed she had even swung back at all, let alone was suturing herself. Perhaps she was interesting after all.

There had only been three sessions between the two of them, and those had be almost too short to be called a full sessions. He had eventually gathered that she was researching for the other doctors and when he had asked why she replied she specialized in doing research in clinical management of patients. It frustrated him when she wouldn't elaborate and they spent the last few minutes of that session staring at each other.

The next session was ultimately disappointing as well. It proceeded well enough. She asked questions, be baited her and teased and eventually managed to gather bits and pieces of information about her. He knew she was not married, did not own cats and it could be safe to say she was not having an affair at work. She most defiantly disliked his doctor, but managed to remain respectful in front of patients. She had asked him questions about chaos and had figured out how to flatter him so he would talk. She avoided the questions the other doctors asked him repeatedly. _What was your childhood like? Who were your parents? What is your name? Blady blady bloo?_ He had asked her more than once why she wasn't asking typical questions and she would always reply that they weren't important right now. He would laugh and wonder aloud whether she got the joke. The big joke that is.

He'd told her scar stories and through those she remained riveted he knew she didn't believe him. He could see the layer of disbelief hiding in her countenance every time he told one but she listened and that was enough for now.

It ended in her telling him that was in fact the last session and another doctor would be taking over from here on in. He quickly egged her on about her abilities as a doctor and a researcher, she'd given him a wounded look that signified more than she intended. It was peer pressure after all, he thought, she was leaving because of them or they were making her abandon the sessions. He grabbed her as she made a move to leave, not intending to bruise. It at least surprised them both and in the few seconds, before the guards hauled themselves in there he could see that she wasn't afraid and perhaps she didn't really want to leave.

He hadn't spoken to the new doctor on principal.

Harleen finished dressing her wound and made her way towards the doorway. She hadn't been about to ask the nurses to stitch her up, they were too stretched between patients themselves. The pandemonium had died down but the casualties would last the rest of the night. She'd nearly made it through the door when a whistle sailed through the air and made her turn her head. The Joker was sitting on a cot, his forehead under reparations but his attention on her. He mouth a 'hi' and she mouthed one back, giving him a small smile before hurrying through the door. It was then he decided she'd been just too much fun not to add to the team.

* * *

In Febuary, he traipsed around her apartment, running his hands over anything he found interesting or odd about it. It was small, but he supposed she wasn't the type who cared. She had a decently filled bookshelf, and had interspersed whatever literature she possessed with the occasional DVD. It was clean overall and characterless.

He felt that this all boded well.

"You uh, need to live a little Harls," he said to no one as he opened a door down the hall. It was her bedroom with its neat bed, neat bedside table and very neat dresser.

Well not entirely neat. There were earrings he'd never seen tossed on top. Come to think of it he'd never seen her wearing any jewelry. His eyes slid down the dresser catching a glimpse of dark red in a drawer left a crack opened. One finger nudged the drawer a bit more open and raised his eyebrows at the tinsy bit of fabric disguised as a dress.

He whistled and wondered briefly if then she used sex let off steam. She was surely attractive enough to employ that tactic, but she did not seem like the type to go whoring herself around. He closed the drawer and wiped the red thing from his mind. It left a bad taste in his mouth. The front door clicked open and he turned to face the doorway. Her keys jingled and two thumps signaled she's nearly tossed her shoes off her feet. He eyed the bed and sat down facing the doorway. The bed was soft, had a fabric softener scent and he ran a hand absentmindedly over it until he was reminded about the lingerie.

His hand stilled.

She came into view munching on a bowl of cereal and ignoring the world around them, looking very tired and a little bit fed up.

"You should come out and play tonight." He stated simply, leaning back with his legs sprawled out before him. Harleen choked briefly on her spoonful of cheerios and took in the sight before her. The Joker, on her bed, looking pleased with himself.

She cleared her throat and suggested instead that it should be him inside his cell tonight. He laughed in response and gestured she come closer, grasping her left hand when she was close enough. It had been three weeks since he had escaped Arkham, but only a few days since he'd contacted her last. She'd come home one night, exhausted and ready to just sleep when she noticed a sticky note attached to the outside of her window. It had read 'wish you were here.' She had been paralyzed at first but then reassured herself that he probably was not going to blow her to smithereens.

"You, um, don't have enough fun I think. You should really have more fun Harley. I'm not much for um, taking no for an answer. Especially when I'm right"

"What kind of fun are we talking about?" She asked as he gently tugged her forward so she could sit next to him on the bed. He looked at the ceiling, sucked on his scars and turned to her, looking excited.

"I want to introduce you to the boys, and then, perhaps when you get to know them you could come 'round more often. Maybe um, bring that medical kit of yours. You can stitch, can't you?" He gave her hand a little squeeze and his thumb rubbed her skin absentmindedly. It seemed even when he was trying to sit perfectly still there was a restless, brimming energy in and around him.

"I've gone through med school so yes I can suture, however if you're looking for major surgery you're looking at the wrong girl. Besides, I think they're calling this aiding and abetting these days."

"Har-ley. Harls. Hunny bun. I know you. I know you're bored. You _hate_ your job and as lovely as this apartment is what would you possibly do here tonight. Hm Hm? And just think who knows how much fun you'll have if you come out. You'll like this. I promise you'll like this and "

He tilted his head and gave her a comical pleading look. She laughed at this and gave his hand a squeeze back before removing it and taking another spoonful of cereal. "I'm betting on oodles." She sighed, placed the bowl on the bedside table and looked him squarely in the eyes. They were alight with mischief and she conceded.

* * *

February turned into March and he found himself curled around her in bed more and more often. The arrangement had come on almost naturally; the only fight about it was that he not get greasepaint or dirt on her sheets. It was certainly more comfortable than sleeping on the ratty couch in the warehouse office. Harleen was the accommodating sort after all, or she at least was able to see the logic he presented. By the time he'd returned her home from the seedy underworld, they would both be exhausted and the clear follow up procedure would be this. It helped that she was ever so soft and laughed at his jokes. There was only one problem.

He looked her squarely in the eyes. "We're not lovers Harl. Love doesn't exist. It's a figment of yours, and uh, their imaginations. Not even really a good figment. You have to understand that." She nodded response and then yawned into the pillow.

"I do," she murmured softly into the pillow. "We're not dating. You're just crashing in my bed occasionally. Most of the time you commandeer the better pillow. Now can we sleep? Please?"

He sighed, whispered yes and she turned onto her other side. His hand snaked around her middle and pulled her firmly to his chest. It was too warm to pass up he decided and buried his head into the back of her neck. She smelled clean and like some girlish soap and his fingers traced a lazy circle on her abdomen. He'd sometimes give into the inexplicable desire to place a kiss where her neck and shoulder met and leave a trail of kisses either up her neck or along her shoulder but tonight was not one of those nights. At least not after giving her that particular speech. He tried to avoid the romantic with Harley since he figured it would only lead to trouble, which woman involved in the underworld usually were. She was involved now, there was no denying that.

He'd taken her to the warehouse and coerced her into being the medic. Offered her money that she raised her eyebrows at and ended up not taking. It had been a big pile of money, but she was smart enough to know that mob money just brought more trouble than it was worth.

He had first kissed her in the office without even really meaning to at first. It began tentatively, explorative even with his hands gently resting on her hips. She'd responded surprisingly enough and made a happy noise when his tongue ran along the inside of her lip. In return, her tongue had flicked one of his scars on the inside of his mouth and that had been unquestionably erotic. His hands pulled her against him roughly and they both became more fervent with the kisses until she had been back up onto the desk and he was littering her neck with kisses and tugging at her shirt. It had all come crashing to a close when a sharp knock at the door and 'It's ten, Boss.' He'd scowled at the door and was surprised to see that panting Harley had been working on his belt while he'd been working at her shirt.

He'd been very careful with Harley since then.

* * *

April came roaring in and Harleen's keys jangled and the door swung open, admitting an intoxicated Harley and some brown-eyed man she had met at the club that night. He'd seemed nice enough at the bar, bought her many of the drinks she'd imbibed and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. Normally Harley would have left him where she found him but she was still feeling sore about the argument she and J had a few days ago. The sleeping together had turned into nights punctuated with kisses and then that had quickly morphed into intercourse.

They both had seemed happy with that. She'd go to work in the daytime, come home, perhaps suture him or the boys up and they'd cap off the night filling her apartment with sighs and moans. If he'd managed to blow something up that afternoon he'd tell her all about it afterward. It was simple and she would go about her day feeling uncommonly pleased.

It had come to an abrupt close when she had finally met the mangled Mr. Dent that week. She had made her way to the warehouse after work to find both Mr. J and Dentin the office, staring at each other tensely. Harley had been about to excuse herself when J ushered her back in and asked her kindly if she would help Harvey with a bullet wound he received.

She noticed with relief that the bullet had passed through his shoulder, high enough that his lung wouldn't have been punctured.

"You're a lucky man, I don't have to go fishing around in there for a bit of metal," she said while disinfecting the wound.

"I'm also being sewn up by a pretty doctor," he replied and she paused for a moment before regrouping and catching J's expression out of the corner of her eye. It was not pleased and she finished dressing the wound in silence.

"There, all done." She said cheerily and began to turn away when Harvey's hand came up and brushed a piece of hair away from her face that had come loose from her ponytail. He grasped her hand and told her she was the prettiest doctor that he'd seen and wondered if he could thank her somehow. She pulled away and the Joker stood and exited the office.

"Sorry," she said softly, "No can do."

The Joker reentered with a blank expression on his face and something heavy looking in his hand. He grabbed the hand the Harvey had used to entice her, lay it flat on the table and smashed it repeatedly with what Harley learned moments later was a brick. She could hear the bones crunch under the repeated crushing and blood leaked over the desk. Dent, screaming in agony was tossed out of the office and the Joker demanded that the goons throw him out before slamming the door shut.

"J?" she began softly and crossed the room to touch his shoulder. He evaded her touch and the look he gave her was furious. The argument began when Harley tried to reassure him that there wasn't anything to worry about, but claims of her exclusivity seemed to only make him angrier and their shouting echoed off the walls of the office. He couldn't be placated or reasoned with when truly angry and Harley tried to remind herself of this over the raging din of their voices.

It ended with the Joker telling her that a) they were not together, b) they would never be lovers and c) she should go home and fuck whomever she wanted because he wouldn't be coming round anymore. He seemed to calm down as she picked up the very few belongings that she had left there and he watched her with an almost blank expression as she held back angry tears and left the warehouse in silence.

So here she was, hoping to fuck someone else and so far doing a good job of it. He was kissing up and down her neck and she giggled drunkenly. It wasn't the same as when J did it, but she reminded herself that was over and she was going to have fun tonight. It was then she noticed the purple coat draped across the back of her kitchen chair and stopped her own ministrations. She pulled away from the man and firmly told him she was tired and that he should go home now.

"But baby we're -"

"Both going to sleep in our own beds." She took another step back and gestured towards the door. He scowled, murmured something that sounded like 'frigid bitch' and walk out. Harleen locked the door behind him, quietly pulled off her shoes and made her way towards the bedroom. It was possible he hadn't heard anything, was asleep and she could curl up next to him and they'd talk in the morning.

It was altogether possible, but unlikely.

She opened her bedroom door to find him sitting on the bed and looking at her with an expression she couldn't read. If it was angry, it wasn't the same anger he'd lashed out at her with a few days prior. He'd cleaned the makeup from his face, which he only did when he expected that it would just the two of them for the evening. It was something he never did if he intended to leave her place and go hold someone hostage or more excitingly, fight the Bat.

"You said you weren't coming here anymore." Said Harleen quietly, searching his eyes, which were unreadable. He shifted uncomfortably and sucked on one of his scars.

"So that was," he gestured towards the doorway "um, celebrating that fact? Hm?"

"Of course not," she sighed and sat beside him on the bed. She briefly considered reminding him that he'd suggested she'd find a new playmate, but decided it was unwise since she was sure it would only reawaken the argument. They spent the next few minutes in silence and he took in her appearance. She was disheveled, wearing a dress that sparkled absentmindedly in the dark and her eyes were heavy with makeup. The lipstick both smudged and a dark shade he had not seen before and gulping, he briefly felt sick at the thought of where those lip were tonight and where they could have been going.

"So maybe we're mutually _exclusive_." He began, sucking on his right scar and not looking in her eyes.


	5. The Fight

_June 2010_

They were arguing on top of a rooftop in the Narrows when it all ended and there had not been anything particularly different about the argument that would have and should have signaled the imminent demise of the relationship to him. The typical cycle would start with a fight; she would leave or be thrown out depending on their moods and within a week she would have come back and things would be peachy again. If Harley was anything, she was punctual and kept to a regular schedule. The week without her flew by and like clockwork; she would be pushing through that door and into his lap.

At least that had been his expectation.

However, she had not shown up, that was particularly vexing to him, and he rehashed the argument in his mind, waiting for the answer to pop out at him.

She had threatened to throw herself off the end of the pier and he had encouraged it. _Oh._ She had been threatening that in her argument as of late but he had never given it much weight. She _loved_ him. He gave a strained laugh and sent out one of the boys to the usual spots where Harley would be hiding and continued to wait. When they returned hours later, exasperated and without her, he had taken his vexation out on them.

When the body of a blond Jane Doe washed up onto the shore and into the news headlines, he had read the news report with and unheard of trepidation. The article described the blond, petite woman and her condition; battered, naked and sexually assaulted. An odd sensation gripped his chest that he could not quite place nor was he able to force it to vacate.

Bribing the mortician had not been a problem, no one stayed in the morgue during the hours he kept except perhaps a janitor and that unwelcome possibility had been taken care of with the hefty sum of cash he had dished out. The whole morgue smelled of disinfectant and he shifted uncomfortably as he approached the refrigerated chamber that supposedly contained her. His breathing stilled as he opened the chamber and looked at the body. He had not thought of what he would do for her if it were her corpse. Had not really considered anything until he saw the blond hair. It made him pause. When he quickly asked himself what he had expected the only answer would be that they'd both go out in a blaze of glory if they ever had ended, he wouldn't been standing over her corpse in some morgue at three am.

He noticed then with relief that the shade of blonde hair wasn't quite right; not as pale and fine as hers, and that she was missing the faint scar that Harley had on her arm. She was petite yes, but not as thin as Harley had gotten in the last few weeks. The woman's face was mangled but it didn't matter because she was not his Harley.

Nevertheless, the body had remained in the back of his mind for the next few weeks, not as a distinct subject but more like an oppressive reminder of possibility. He had visited Red who claimed that she was sure he had killed her finally and that had twisted the now permanent sensation in his chest. While he stood there dumbfounded at the accusation she had twisted the proverbial knife and suggested in a not-so-lady-like way that perhaps Harley had found herself a better lover.

He took out that particular jibe on her plants and it left him with an angry satisfaction.

Why would he ever have killed Harley? They had their ups and down but she could be so much _fun_ to have around. She'd always had a place beside him at meetings and bank robberies and occasionally when teasing the Bat. It occurred to him then that someone else would have had plenty of reason to off her. Obviously not the Bat, but maybe Dent. Unlikely that is was Nigma; he had a not-so-secret infatuation and he thought that she and Crane at least respected one another. It could have been the mob, they were always sore about something that they did.

If she loved him, _why_ would she have left him? It was not that he believed that she loved him; love was a made up term anyways, but she claimed that without question she did. She had taken it hard when she'd said it the first time and he responded that it was impossible. He had gone so far to admit a mutual affection and occasional tenderness but it was not love. It just didn't exist.

* * *

When Harley hit the water, the first thing she noticed was the bitter cold temperature and how it made her cry out in surprise. Water filled her open mouth and she choked. Her lungs burned and suddenly a primal instant took over and she struggled to the surface. Her hands outstretched and battering wildly against the current and constriction until she felt merciful air envelope her.

She couldn't even drown herself properly.

She let out a strangled sob and dragged herself to the pier, clamoring on and lying down beside the boat she had chosen to off herself next to. She managed to push herself up before the sobs started again and transformed into full on weeping. Was there anything she could do that was right?

Once the weeping stopped, she lay still on the dock, listening to the far off city noises and very gently waves beside her. If he wanted her gone that badly, she would go. Far away, where he couldn't find her. If anything she unfailing followed his directions, even when they both knew it was better for them when she did not. The arguments were always violent verbally and occasionally violent physically. He mostly gave her warning slaps when he deemed it necessary and the one time he had slapped her hard enough to make her ears ring something had snapped inside her and they ended up clawing at each other's throats. Biting, bruising and name-calling. She had stayed with Pam after that particular night who had opened a bottle of champagne in honor of Harley claiming that she thought she'd broken his nose.

With that, Harley stood up and walked herself to the GCU.


	6. Viva Las Vegas

_A/N: Thank you for all the favorites and reviews!! You guys are awesome!_

_November 2012_

"So the million dollar question then." Said Pam as she plopped down on the couch beside Harleen, who had been sipping overly sweet, milky tea and was caught with a mouthful.

"Hm?" Was all she managed through the warm liquid.

"Why...well maybe not," Pam began and quickly paused. She seemed to mentally edit the question and restarted with, "when you and I met, how long had you two been seeing one another."

Harleen laughed and quickly corrected Pam. It wasn't that they were seeing each other, it was more along the lines of sleeping together as co-workers at that point. It was only after Arkham and the rest of Gotham had found out what was going on that she was his main _squeeze_. It was public then and so they had thought that, what the hell, be honest.

He had paraded her around the underworld after that. His ego flourished now there was a pretty girl on his arm and he couldn't help but show her off. The first time he's taken her to the Iceberg she'd been dolled up more than she had ever been in her life and afterward he'd taken her back to the hideout and after peeling off the clothes and jewelry he'd shown her how proud he was to have her there, beside him.

Those were exciting times.

Pam was secretly thrilled at the buckets upon fluffy buckets of snow pouring down around them for the last few days and tried to ignore how antsy Harleen was to leave. Especially after Pam had accidentally discovered Harleen's new name while she was swiping her debit card. Harleen had spent the rest of the afternoon flustered but had calmed down after Pam had gotten a few drinks in her and promised her undying loyalty.

Eddie had visited earlier yesterday, being the bright fellow he was he deduced Harleen was trapped by the snow and took the chance to talk with her for the first time in two years. It was a quiet visit and overall had an air of awkwardness. Everyone had the same question. Was she staying? And almost everyone had the same reaction to the negative answer. Disappointment co-mingled with understanding. Harleen thought she would lose her mind again if someone else held her hand and said "I understand."

Pam had eventually informed her of the fallout that occurred after her disappearance. The Joker had torn up half of Gotham, literally and figuratively for a few months before just losing steam.

"I was sure he'd offed himself, blown his brains out even," said Pam over her martini.

Harleen choked on her tea and ask why she thought something like that.

"There was this constant pandemonium, all the goddamn time. If it wasn't some building being blown up then someone was being tortured. And then nothing. Nada. Rumor is that he opted out of fighting Batman once." Pam whispered conspiratorial and Harleen snorted.

"Unlikely."

"I know, I know, _but_ it was a rumor." Pam shrugged and returned to her martini.

Harleen paused for a second before asking about any other rumors that had occurred when she was gone.

"Like what? About the Joker?" Pam asked taking another sip.

Harleen nodded quietly and looked at Pamela expectantly. Pam sighed, placed the glass on the coffee table, rubbed her face and look Harleen directly in the eyes. Grasping her friends' hand she told her this probably wasn't healthy but she'd indulge her.

"I knew he wasn't dead when I overheard a hooker talking about him. I was sitting in the Iceberg when I overheard her telling this ditzy friend of hers all about it. He'd bought her time, slept with her and then tossed her out. Didn't seem like either was a whole fan of the incident. I got up and went over to the bar so I could get a glimpse of who she was, what he'd choose to fuck after you and she had...your hair and your eyes and that's when I stopped _goading_ him altogether about you. I didn't see him until well... I suppose it would have been after your Vegas incident with him. He was back in full force, but more mean spirited, crueler than he had been before. Let the city know it was his and only his. "

Harleen took the last of her drink in a swig and replied "He was just sore. He didn't get to have his toy back." Las Vegas would be a permanent sore spot for Harleen and she supposed it was an even sorer spot for Tom.

Tom was sure that she was the one and Harleen was at least sure that he was nice and didn't know any sadistic uses for C4. Which in her books was above a white collared job. He was well read and had asked her to marry him in what Harleen could only conceive as the only spontaneous gesture of his adult life.

But he was nice enough and he _loved_ her.

If there was one thing that Harleen wanted at her wedding, it was sunshine. She hadn't seen it in a few weeks and the near constant drizzle created a near constant fog. It was depressing frankly and when she mentioned this to Tom, he suggested Las Vegas. The second spontaneous gesture.

"Let's go. It's off-season, so the tickets would be cheap anyways. It'll be warmer and sunnier," he said as he twirled a strand of her hair around his fingers while they cuddled.

She found a very simple dress and they picked out the rings together a few days before getting on the October flight.

The Nevada warmth melted away any the doom and gloom that surrounded Harleen and she reviled in the warmth and sunlight. She could admit to herself that if there was one this she missed about Gotham, it was the sunshine. The two quickly became tourists and snapped pictures, saw the sights and eventually chose a 24-hour chapel they would get married in the next evening.

At dinner that evening, they had a wonderful time discussing marital bliss, perhaps buying a house and moving her out of her apartment. And that is when it hit her. Suddenly, across the table from her was a man she didn't know, or even want to know. Tom was there certainly and a quick scan backwards in her memory conceded that he had changed. No point in the conversation did he suddenly join the Nazi's, sprout and extra head or lick a waiters face. He was still Tom, the man she was marrying. But something was different, off colour.

A rising panic took hold in her as she calmly excused herself dashed towards the restaurant bathroom. What am I doing? She thought to herself and quickly splashed some cold water from the sink on to her face. Gently patting her face dry she took a few deep, cleansing breaths and reminded herself that this was Tom and she was being silly. Of course she wanted to marry him. He was sweet and kind and loved her. And didn't blow up buildings.

It somehow always came back to that, she thought bitterly. If there was one quality she seemed to search for in a boyfriend it was something that differentiated him from the last big one. Harleen then imagined Tom in an unrestrained and crazed state. In her most vivid imaginings she watched as he stuck a pile of C4 to a bridge and blew it sky high. It just didn't seem very plausible, or exciting.

Then she remembered the last time _he_ blew up a building and a shiver ran down her spine at the memory. It wasn't the actual explosion that was exciting for her, it was always the build up before hand and the exuberance afterward. He had an energy that was infectious and always included her in celebrating with unbridled joy when things went well.

She decided that the shift she felt at the dinner table wasn't in Tom, it was in herself. She didn't want to teach kindergarten anymore, or live in that apartment.

But if she didn't have any of that, what did she have? Nothing really. She couldn't go back to Gotham.

She wondered why life had gotten so boring, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same as before and then it hit her that **she** was boring and was bored of life. Just as she was before she'd followed the Joker that night when he'd shown up unannounced. He'd been dangerous, exciting and had a maliciously wicked sense of humor. And Harleen was intrigued.

She tried to remember a time where she liked herself, and whispers of her own weighty ghost came crawling up her spine and wrapped its fingers around her skull. She'd liked being Harley. The playful one who wasn't afraid of anything and did whatever she wanted. Harleen had thought that she could have kept the bits of Harley that she liked while she was Sandra, but it hadn't panned out quite as expected. She'd assumed the identity of Sandy but it always felt like she was playing make-believe.

Of course, she winced, Harley was the crazy one in a tiny sequined dress and leggings, bashing in brains like life was a whack-a-mole contest. Harley laughed a mile a minute at everything.

Sandra didn't even watch funny movies.

It was in that moment, she knew she couldn't marry Tom.

* * *

The Joker wasn't keen on traveling in general. He had no plans (really ever) for any sort of domination of a country, he was perfectly besotted with the prospects of Gotham groveling. He was a simple man with simple tastes and traveling was never simple, in fact it was downright appalling these days.

But the mob had taken their meeting to Vegas, and not being one to turn down a party invitation he'd brought the boys along for the ride and subsequently sent them off to play on their off hours.

When Happy approached the bar (his real name being Douglas; not that the Boss cared about that) he was smug to see a pretty blond sitting there by herself. As he approached, he noticed her stature and more importantly, as he slid into a seat a few chairs down, he noticed who she was. The pretty blond was the Boss' supposedly dead girlfriend. She was just as tiny, blond but looked a bit sadder than the last time he'd seen her.

There was no doubt that the woman at the bar was Harley Quinn

The bartender asked her what she wanted to drink to which she replied, "Something fruity and strong" He laughed a little and made something that Harleen thought tasted mainly of watermelons. She drank the cocktail and wondered vaguely what she would do with the dress. Perhaps putting it up on ebay was the best call.

A shadow was cast over her shoulder and she turned to catch a glimpse of the stranger.

"Miss Quinn?" He asked carefully. She was shocked and her eyes searched his face for something she recognized – she didn't find anything. He cleared his throat and suggested that they had once had the same employer. He decided he didn't want to frighten her, he'd seen her backed into a corner once and she had been vicious with the assailant.

"Ah." Harleen said softly, quickly running through her mind all the possibilities. What was to happen? How could she get out? Was she going to see _him_? Was the man going to kill her? Was he going to kill Tom?

"Ya should come see the Boss." he said quietly and held out his hand to her. She knew that this wasn't a request and making a scene wouldn't been in her, or the bystanders, best interests. She quickly downed the rest of her drink, avoided his hand and they walked towards the elevators in silence. He didn't look at her during the ride up but could tell she was fidgeting.

When the reached the floor, she seriously considered bolting. She took in the entire hallway, noting where the exits were and calculating quickly if she could reach them before the thug noticed. She decided as they rounded a corner that not only she couldn't reach the stairwells but there wasn't any way she was getting out without the thug telling the Joker.

Unless she killed him, and for that she'd have to dig out the skeleton that was Harley and who knows if she could bury those bones permanently afterward.

They stopped in front of a door and Harleen tried to calm the raging butterflies in her stomach. The thug opened the door, ushered her and and to Harleen's relief the room was empty.

"You girly," the thug began, "are gonna wait here until the boss decides what he's doin' with ya after I inform him about ya." Harleen sat on the edge of the bed and it sunk slightly under her weight.

"What's to keep me here?" Harleen asked defensively.

"How far do ya think you'd get if you ran right now?" he asked on his way out the door. Four floors, Harleen thought, before they caught on and another three after that. At most. She waited for what may have been ten minutes before the door creaked open.

The Joker stepped in quietly and cautiously and looked at her with a tense wonder. He wore the same coat as before and Harleen wondered absentmindedly who had been repairing it for him while she was gone, she couldn't see him doing it himself.

"Do you. Have any idea of what I did to find you? Hm?" He asked stressing the t in what's. Harleen shook her head and looked at the bed rather than him. "Well. What do you think I did?"

"I don't know," she said softly. "I assumed you weren't going to look."

He laughed bitterly took a step closer to her and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I looked. I look under all the little rocks in Gotham and I looked everywhere you could have squeezed your way into to. And it wasn't fun, it was all just full of disappointment and I have never been too keen on disappointment Harley."

She knocked her hand way and stood. "You told me to leave. You told me to kill myself. Do you not remember that? So I, at least, tried." She spat at him bitterly.

He looked at the faux painting that hung over the bed, the grease paint creased across his forehead. He sucked at the left scar before replying quietly that it had been a joke. This time Harleen laughed and sat back down on the bed. She laughed so hard and miserably that she transitioned between laughing and crying without really noticing. He stood awkwardly, not ever really knowing what to do when Harley cried.

Harleen felt the mattress beside her sink as he gingerly put his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She sobbed harder into the familiarity, the fabric and smell of gunpowder assaulted her senses and eventually was calmed by him whispering "hush, hush, hush" and a hand that stroked the top of her head and hair.

"I missed you," she mumbled into his chest. He laughed a little and pulled her closer as if trying to fuse them together so she couldn't run away again. Her own hand snaked up, behind his head and into his hair. The next few kisses were happy and tentative, like each was testing out the reality of the other sitting there.

He kissed her shoulder and then mumbled into her hair, asking her if she lived in Vegas now. She replied absentmindedly that she was supposed to have gotten married here. He stilled and asked her incredulously if she was married now.

"No," she replied, "Things didn't work out."

He pushed himself away from her and stood beside the bed, watching her with an expression of hurt that was magnified by the makeup.

"Did you le-ave with him Harley Quinn?" He said darkly.

"Of course not," she assured him. His expression remained unhappy and he didn't sit back down beside her.

"I thought you weren't the marrying type." He asserted.

"I'm not. I tried to be, but I'm just not."

"Look Pooh. We can talk about this when we get home. Now," he held out his hand, "I've got a _big_ meeting to go to and I just can't be late."

"J... This doesn't mean I'm going back with you. I've got -"Harleen began, but was halted by his expression, angry and malicious. Sucking on the scars he backed away from her and Harleen realized what had been going on in his head since that thug had informed him of her. He wanted her home, with him and had expected her to just take his hand and walk out of here with him. That kissing him, had sealed the deal in his mind and he had, briefly, thought about their future.

He walked out, door slamming behind him.

* * *

"You should stay," Pamela said assuredly. "You could stay here, in the guest room, maybe get your own place when we drive each other out of our minds."

"I don't know.." Harleen began uncomfortably. I can't just pack up and leave everything I have."

"You did before," Pam replied and both women winced. "Your unhappy there. I mean, you weren't always the perkiest here but your life was certainly less depressing than it is now."

"Let me think about it." murmured Harleen. "Let me think about it. If I decide yes then I'll go back home, finish the school year and get rid of the apartment. Probably get back here by July in that case."

Three days after that, Harleen got on her plane.


	7. HarleyHarleen

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_June 2013_

If Harleen was going to miss anything from her apartment, it was not the bathtub. She supposed that at one time it had been a grand affair, but sadly age and poor past tenants had worn it down. After much scrubbing and cleaning agents she had managed to get the inside to a vaguely white color but it never seemed to remain that way for very long. It was insufferable.

What was more important currently was not the bathtub itself, but the man inside it for whom she was stripping down and would be shortly joining. For once, he looked relaxed, his arm dangling outside the tub whilst his head rested against the tiled corner of the wall. Harleen approached the side of the tub and one eye cracked open and he offered his hand to help her in. They shifted around uncomfortably for a few moments until she was curled in his arms with her head against his chest.

She had come home the day before to find him sitting on her bed, flipping through one of her books. She had been surprised to say the least and doubtful when he had said he'd only come here to talk. There wasn't any way; she thought to herself, that he would travel across the country to have coffee with her. However, that is exactly what they did. They drank coffee on her balcony at sunset and discussed her coming back to Gotham. She was due to arrive in a few weeks but he had wanted to talk to her beforehand. He was pleasantly surprised he could still make her laugh at inane things but less pleased when he had learned she would be living with Red. Why live somewhere else when she had a home? He reasoned. Nevertheless, there was no dissuading her and she could tell he was at least trying to keep his temper in check. It was not something he did often and Harleen was sure that he wanted something badly if he was being polite about it.

They had fallen into old habits around each other and he had murmured into her hair that night that they belonged together. Harleen had chalked that one up to post-coital bliss and tried to concentrate on his hand moving up and down her torso and the happy ache that resounded in her. Rather that then the feeling of impending doom that was slowly building up over them, like a mean-spirited raincloud. Some part of her brain chanted that this was a very bad idea indeed. She would not be telling Pam about this one.

The next morning had been a Saturday and he'd managed to convince her to just laze around in bed with him rather than getting up and her keeping to her morning routine. When she asked him if this was treading into _the ordinary_, or normal he'd frowned, snorted and replied that nothing about them was ordinary thank you very much and that she should come back to bed now. Pulling her tightly against him he remembered briefly the day that she had really started to become Harley and Harleen had started to slip away.

It was a few weeks into May and as he remembered, things were moving swimmingly between them. He was still getting used to the idea of them as exclusive. They were lovers, fine. They saw only each other, also fine. He was not keen on sharing her and she claimed she did not want to be shared. However, it all treaded dangerously along the lines of a relationship, which to him was far too ingrained in the overall plan of the universe that everyone else had thought up. So he slept with her, but treaded carefully.

He vaguely remembered that the thug had come into the office in a panic; someone had apparently hit Harleen while she had been sewing them up. The offending thug had made passes at her, which had set her off, and the resulting argument had apparently gotten more and more heated until the thug had stated that if she could fuck a freak like the Boss then she was a much of a whore than any of the Narrows hookers. She had said something back that the messenger did not hear and then been slapped.

He'd snarled as he left the office and made his way across the warehouse to the section that was deemed the medical ward. He'd specifically instructed the boys not to touch Harley. She was not some library book that they could pass around and share. The overhead lights shore with a fluorescent brightness that was barely outshining the white-hot rage that was building up inside him. When he had finally approached the ward, a circle of thugs blocked his view of Harley and he didn't register what any of the whispers were saying. He parted the crowd voraciously and then halted, confused at the display in front of him.

Harleen was kneeling on the floor, her lip split, breathing hard with shocked confusion written across her face. The thug was dead in front of her, his face smashed and the pointed end of a pry bar jammed through his ear and most likely, the Joker suspected, into the brain. He noticed then Harley was covered in a spray of blood that arched across her, which he assumed she had received from repeated swinging.

He approached cautiously, knelt beside her and using both hand encouraged her into a standing position. She gave him a mildly frightened look but walked with him towards the office. What she was frightened of he wasn't sure, he'd tried to keep his face as neutral as possible as he lead her away, not intending on scaring her more than she already was.

He'd gathered from her, later when she had calmed down and returned to mostly her usual self, that in the time between the messenger leaving to go get him she'd beaten the thug to death and felt nothing whilst doing it. He had hit her and as she described it, something in her took over and she had hurried from the medical bay to the warehouse center, picked up the crowbar and with deadly calm had bashed his brains in. She'd only stopped when the crowbar had gotten stuck and she was unable to dislodge it. Reality had set in and she'd sunk to the floor at about the time he had gotten there.

"And... I didn't feel anything," she'd finished softly. He frankly wasn't sure what to make of it, but made sure the other thugs had cleaned it up before they left for her apartment. She was rough in bed that night and that had surprised him as well. Usually he had to be the one that was pushing and clawing and she'd get the picture and reciprocate, but this time she'd kissed him roughly as they got through the door, hand snaking around him, pushing off the waistcoat and untugging his shirt before they even got to her bedroom door. Through rough kisses, they settled on a spot in the hallway where her underwear was tugged off and his pants were pulled down halfway.

She'd moan as she slid down on him and he'd quickly decided that if she was going to act this way every time she killed someone he'd make a mental note to encourage it. Her skirt pooled over them and he'd slipped his hands under to rest his hands against her hips. She made keening noises against him and a moan tore from his throat in a voice he did not quite recognize.

"Better?" He'd asked after they had collapsed and wrapped their arms around each other in the hallway. She had nodded exhaustedly and he placed a quick kiss against her forehead. "Good."

From there on in there were little things present in Harley's personality that he hadn't noticed before. She giggled more often, hardly made a fuss when the boys had brought someone back to the warehouse to torture. She'd also developed a way to look at him which didn't fail to make his pants feel tighter. It was a combination of dark lust and amusement and she was using it more and more often these days.

He was sure the change was permanent when she had offered him a cup of coffee while he was wiping blood off his hands, the poor sod still gurgling and duct taped to the chair in front of them.

It was mid June when her life finally blew up in her face and it was about time in his opinion. She'd cared about it less and less every day, and it was only a matter of time. Arkham fired her, she lost her apartment and societal freedom in one quick swoop and somehow, it didn't seem to bother her. She seemed perfectly content to just stay there with him.

* * *

Days after he had arrived, Harleen managed to convince him to go home to Gotham and that she would be following shortly behind. He still wasn't keen on her living with Red and though he'd tried he also hadn't managed to get her to admit that she was his. Silent infuriation permeated the apartment until she'd convinced him to go home without her. The few hours they spent together after that were filled with rough kisses and touches as if he partially didn't believe she would be joining him and wanted to recommit her body to memory.

She assured him again and again that yes, she was coming home. Yes, she was staying there. Harleen decided, while they lay on her rumpled bed, exhausted and breathing heavy that if he didn't love her he was at least adamant about her being with him.

She asked him them, as they lay there, if he did love her. He signed tiredly and seemed to contemplate it.

"No," he replied softly and drew in a long breath. "You can't do something if it doesn't exist in the first place Harls."

"Then how do you feel?" she murmured into the pillow. He shifted uncomfortably and sat up.

He stared at the ceiling briefly, sucked on one of the scars and then turned his head to look at her. "If I feel anything for you… it is attachment and affection."

Harleen sat up and looked him in the eyes. He seemed nervous, as if he was wondering if what he said couldn't have been enough for her and perhaps he'd had better of lied to her instead. She considered that course of action, if he had lied to her. She had probably not believed him she decided, but inside her, something would have swelled with an unknown, fervent joy and would have broken terribly when he would finally admit that he had lied to her.

"That'll do I think," she murmured softly before placing a kiss on his scarred cheek.


	8. Retaliation

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N: hey look guys! It's plot development.  
_

_July 2013_

There hadn't been a single time in Harleen's life that she had painted her bedroom herself. When she was small she had begged her parents to let them help her with painting her walls the color reminiscent of too-sweet candy and when she received her office at Arkham she was told that yes, she could paint, but no, the custodial staff would be doing it.

As she stood in her new bedroom, checking the walls for any tape she had missed, she was filled with a sense of accomplishment that stretched far beyond the realms of what she would have considered reasonable. It was pale yellow, and it was all hers.

The smell of roasting vegetable wafted delicately under the strong paint fumes and Harleen opened her window a bit wider than it had been. Pamela was cooking that evening and Harleen was sure there wasn't going to anything that resembled anything seemingly ordinary. The last time that Pamela had cooked it had ended in disaster and Harleen had choked on what she was sure wasn't anything she could recognize from the vegetable aisle.

Now that she was in Gotham, she wasn't quite sure what she was going to do with herself. As much as the straight and narrow was boring, she wasn't exactly keen on going back to shooting and bashing people's brains in. No matter how much it would have delighted the Joker.

He had made it clear how much the thought delighted him.

She wasn't sure where they stood either but that was something she was going to mentally tackle later on. She decided that she would eventually admit to Pamela that they both were still attracted to one another.

That they were also making out in broom closets.

There were all too many stolen kisses between them already. They encountered one another a few times after she had moved back and always managed to steal a sneaky caress in a doorway or behind a partition. It was admittedly, as exciting as when they had first started out. She thought it ironic that this time she was the one being chased for affection, rather than the other way around. He had always been a little bit needy when he wanted it, and she had been needy for it most of the time. But their time was most occupied with running from the cops, killing the cops, and baffling the Bat. So affection was always left as the last thing to do on the list and most of the time Harleen thought they'd never check all those mental boxes in time.

They were invited to the Iceberg that night and although Pamela had protested, Harleen had wanted to go. She desired a bit of fun after spending all her time determined to be boring and sitting in the Iceberg, maybe drinking with Pamela and the boys would be just the ticket.

While packing to leave her sleepy little town she had found her costume at the bottom of her closet. It had been tossed in there haphazardly and covered with her suitcases. She'd worn it often enough, but the sequined dress hadn't been her only outfit. The dress was saved for special occasions.

She wouldn't be wearing it tonight; it would still give him too many ideas if he'd heard about it.

* * *

Dancing and drinking overtook Harleen at the Iceberg. She'd had careless fun and was making her way from the bar back to her booth when she'd wished that J had been here. The intoxication created a warm happiness in her and she wondered when the last time they had dance was. From her estimation it was too long as she plopped down in her booth she began planning on ways she could remedy that. Pam leaned over to say something too her and Harleen cupped her ear and indicated she couldn't hear anything. The music boomed over them and Pamela laughed and motioned she was going to go to the bar and get something more. Harleen watched her make her way across the bar when the lights suddenly came on and the music halted.

Everyone looked around confusedly and a scream sailed through the air from the front of the bar and Harleen briefly caught sight of a group of men in balaclavas and machine guns. As they opened fire, Harleen sprang from her seat and took covered behind the booth.

The rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire filled the air and smashed glasses, the fragments raining down on the patrons. Harleen took a few deep breaths and tried to both calm herself and squash her intoxication. If she was centered, she could take in what was going on around her better. Deep breaths in and out filled the air but were overcome by the raging dim of the gunfire and screaming. Out of the corner of her eye, Harleen could see one of the dancers bleeding out a few feet away from her. The girl's eyes were wide and she was making soft mewling noises punctuated by a gurgle.

Harleen thought she might be sick.

As, suddenly as it had begun, the gunfire ceased.

The lounge was eerily quiet and Harleen peered cautiously around the corner to take in the damage. Pam was pressed up against the bar, bleeding from her temple and clutching at her arm. Harleen made her way over to better take in the damage. Sirens could be heard, but they were still distant. People moaned and scrambled for the front door. Helping her friend up, Harleen led them in the other direction, through the kitchen and out the back door.

"Time for home I think." Pam had said tiredly.

* * *

The billboard surprised them all. Their faces plastered on it in two neat rows with their names underneath. Pamela, sipping her morning coffee had turned on the morning news to the frightening report that there were billboards all over Gotham with their faces. The text above the pictures proclaimed "Death Count". She'd spat out the coffee and rushed to Harleens' room, shaking the girl and pulling her from the bed to see. The reporters were baffled as they were and as a sleepy Harleen tried to make sense of the news report, Pam had busied herself with the phone.

Eddie didn't have any idea what was going on, which was unique for him. Even at 8 am on a Saturday morning. He suggested that everyone meet up and Pamela suggested the apartment.

"Team meeting?" Harleen arched her eyebrow and poured herself a cup of the coffee as Pamela hung up the phone.

"I wouldn't go and say we're all a team, dear."

"Well then we're the most dysfunctional, non-related family ever." Harleen asserted. She had always felt like there was a kinship between them all, regardless of the backstabbing that went on. She'd forgiven mostly everyone over time anyways.

Over the course of a few hours, six of them had piled into Pamela's living room. Pam and Harleen sat on the couch across from Selina, Eddie and Harvey whilst the Joker chose to stand slightly off to the side. For the most part, he'd ignored Harleen, only catching her eye once or twice. Once to offer s secret little smile and once more when he'd arched his eyebrows and titled his head towards her bedroom. She'd blushed and quietly indicated no, not right now.

At one point Selina had pulled up an internet map of the city and added little markers of where they were all over the city.

"Fifteen," Selina said, counting the little dots on the screen. "Most, are sitting beside civic buildings; hospitals, city halls, etc. There are a few in the Narrows and a couple in the ritzier sections of town. "

They spent most of the afternoon in deliberation with each other over what it meant, who put it up there, why it was even up.

The evening news brought to light what most of them suspected. A letter had reached the station that day brought forth a promise to do them all away.

"Good luck," Pam scoffed at the television.

The reporter quickly summed up the rest of the story, the company who owns the billboards had no comment, and no one claimed that they had seen the image put up overnight. The commissioner reported that vigilante justice was not to be tolerated, and that they didn't know where the recent discovery of the body of man known as Killer Croc was related to the billboards.

Croc was dead.

"And good riddance frankly," sighed Selina.

"Well that's not very nice kitty cat." The joker interjected. Selina gave him a raised eyebrow

"It's problematic." Said Harleen calmly. Selina looked over at her and Harleen gave a defensive gesture "Look. Whoever these people are, they've taken out the one of us that's physically strongest, and to the public one of the more dangerous. It doesn't matter what we think, it matters what they think."

"How do they know you're alive?" Asked Harvey, without the typical malice. Harleen paused, looked down at the coffee table for a moment before replying that she didn't know. It wasn't like she was announcing it around town, and it wasn't like anyone else was either.

To her knowledge.

Harleen threw her head back and laughed. "You guys think the Bat is going to save us?"


	9. Fire

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

The faces lined up in two neat little rows of five.

She was only a few faces from the beginning of the list while J was nearer to the end. She studied the order in which they appeared and surmised that the most dangerous ones were closer to the end of the list while the ones who were less dangerous; that is, less likely to maim the general population as a whole, were closer to the front. If these people, these avengers of the good people of Gotham were following any order rather than picking them at random then Harleen could expect to die after the Crane but much before Pam or J.

Staring at the billboard disheartened her and she decided that at least these people had at least gotten a picture of her when she was prettier. It wasn't that she wasn't beautiful; she'd dyed her hair back to the blond and she still had wonderful skin, it was that the girl in the picture was much younger and much more excited about what life had offered her. She held a sort of exuberance in her eyes that the present Harleen had lost somewhere along the way.

The last time she and the Joker had spent any time together she'd conveyed her apprehension to him whilst rebuttoning her blouse. He'd snorted, continued to tie his shoe laces and proceeded to let her know how unwelcome that train of thought was.

"This," he gestured out the window, "is just silly Harls. No one is going to be putting bullets through our heads."

She'd felt no relief at this but did warm to the idea that he was trying to reassure her. It was at least a bit romantic. He didn't seem keen on either one of them dying and Harleen considered that to be a plus. There was the possibility that his mood would shift and she'd be tethered to it, unable to escape the dips and peaks but at this point it wasn't a vital concern.

In the years that they had been apart, something inside of him had shifted, she decided. There was the constants that rounded out his personality; the love of anarchy, chaos and chance. There was an energy about him that was still infectious, but it had dampened a bit.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, he had just aged quickly and she had missed it.

She found herself unable to fully understand his expressions again. They had collapsed onto her bed together and while their chests heaved from exertion he had done something she found strange. His eyes danced over her face and one hand came up and his thumb traced the contour of the left side of her face before his eyes finally settled on hers. They held, what she half believed was tenderness. He'd kissed her softly, eagerly after that before pulling away and beginning to dress.

As Harleen made her way away from the billboards she began to reassess the idea of sleeping with him. It wasn't as if the experience wasn't fun, it always was enjoyable and somewhat rough but Harleen was waiting for the possessiveness to resurface. He always required her to be his, and he needed to hear it a few times out loud before he believed her. She mentally commended him for keeping a leash on it so far. It had only poked its ugly head out once or twice and although it darkened the mood it didn't nessicarily kill it.

It seemed that he just needed her to say it, never mind whether or not it would be true.

Harleen let herself into the apartment to find it empty. She tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and after removing her shoes, plopped down on the sofa.

"Time for something mindless," she murmured to herself and turned on the television. The first few channels held nothing interesting and Harleen eventually settled on a talk show she'd never heard of. The host droned on about a brunette celebrity and halfway through the program, Harleen felt her eyes droop and sleep claimed her.

When she awoke, it was dark outside and the talk show had turned into the evening news. She watched with a morbid curiosity as the reporters talked about the billboards. Without so much of a bat of her eyelashes the reporter moved onto a story about a massive fire that authorities were failing to control. The news moved onto an image of the scene and Harleen forgot to breath.

His warehouses were on fire.


	10. Resurrection

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N: Many thanks to all those who have reviewed, favorited or added this story to your alerts. Also, thank you to those who are reading but haven't reviewed. _

_Also, yes the last chapter was a bit of a tease. But i think i make up for that here. Cheers!  
_

Moments passed before Harley stood up and made her way to the bedroom. The television in the background seemed to be on a mental mute as she opened her closet and searched for the dress. Buried in a box of past memorabilia she recovered the old costume. The dress she slipped on fell to her knees and sparkled in all-over black sequins. She readjusted the bateau neckline so it sat properly before searching the box again for her shoes, which she tugged on quickly. She'd never been a fan of flats in combat situations. They sat precariously on her tiny feet in the best of situations and she'd never felt comfortable jogging in them, let alone taunting Batman. The ankle length boots suited her lifestyle much better.

The elevator in the building seemed to take forever tonight so Harley quickly abandoned that thought and hurtled herself down the stairwell. If Mr. J was dying on some warehouse floor, she could at least have the courtesy to take the stairs.

Street level gave her no indication of the news. She supposed that upon hearing of his death, the general population would come out and cheer in droves. Probably break out the champagne, she thought bitterly. She was able to hail a taxi who would drive her at least close to her destination. The cab driver looked at her far too often during the ride and Harley vaguely wondered if she'd have to kill him before the night was done. If he was going to ask her who she was, and point out her resemblance to the girl on the billboard Harley thought she may just snap completely. There wasn't time for this.

She got out of the cab at Duncan street and began to job to her destination. It wasn't that far to the warehouses and as she got closer and closer she noticed more and more of the police force. Ducking expertly in alleyways she mentally reminded herself of the twists and turns that would take her there. She wasn't counting on jumping from rooftops tonight; it had been too long since she'd been on a balance beam to expect a positive result. Screw muscle memory.

One last mad dash around a corner and she finally reached the district. Yes, the warehouses were burning. Harley let out a desperate keening noise and made her way towards the collection of buildings. The air was thick, even from as far away as she was and she surmised with some despair that if he was in there, she couldn't make it in and he couldn't make it out.

Running her hands through her hair she finally noticed the building to her left. It wasn't burning, but she wasn't sure if he possessed it. She jogged over to it and hurtled herself inside. It was dark until she found the switch for the embankment of lights. There was no one here, no sign of life or that he'd been here.

As Harley approached the doorway to the office she noticed a black bag near the doorway. It was a small, black duffle and looked like it was carrying something heavy. She knelt beside it, and began to unzip it. It revealed black masks, matchers, lighters and a few guns. Then men at the bar! She thought with terror. Sucking in her breath, Harley very quietly re-zipped the bag and carefully began to stand. She thought now that she was so close to the office, she could hear shuffling coming from it and could see movement from behind the frosted glass. Taking a quiet and quick step backwards she began to turn when something violently made contact with the back of her skull.

Blackness.

* * *

He'd never been a huge fan of swimming. It wasn't something that he was really required to do on an everyday basis and although he could perform a passible stroke he preferred to be on dry land.

Today he wasn't given much of an option.

The attackers had surprised him in the very least. Leaving one of the offices, he'd been shot on the warehouse floor, his boys nowhere in sight. The bullet had caught him in the shoulder and he'd been forced to his knees by the impact. It was a heavy caliber.

The second blow came to the back of the head with the butt of the attacker's gun. It came over and over again until his vision swam and he remained still on the floor. He wasn't sure, but there may have been chuckling. Whether it was coming from them or him he didn't know. He could remember the smell of smoke and the heat coming from somewhere. When all he could hear was the crackling of flames he attempted to drag himself from the building. He was the sort of man that kept highly flammable and highly explosive things and wasn't the sort to hang around toys that were about to blow up in his own face.

Also, dying like this just seemed pathetic.

Making it outside hadn't been much of an issue once he'd gotten himself to a standing position. His legs wobbled considerably, but he made use of the occasional box and hauled himself outside and into breathable air. Sucking in delicious oxygen, he vaguely noticed that the buildings around him were burning too. They must have been setting fire to everything whilst beating the putz out of him.

Bastards.

Staggering around a corner he was quickly winded by an explosion to his left. His ears rung loudly and he blinked several times before he could passably see. The building roared beside him and a secondary explosion knocked him down again, just after he'd pulled himself up.

"Fuck." He spat and dragged himself away from the buildings and towards the water. His shoulder still burned and when he hit the water it made him swear in pain, water filling his mouth and momentarily choking him. Bursting to the surface, he began to swim parallel to the docks. Anything that he could get a hold of and drag himself out of the water would do. Just as long as he was as far away from the blasts as possible.

His limbs and lungs ached as he pulled himself forward in the water, spying a ladder in the water ahead. It led upwards an onto one of the docks and he floundered a little bit when he reached up to pull himself up with it. There was a phone booth in the distance.

"Oswald," he coughed. "I'm calling in a favor." And told the man where he was, what was going on. He hung up the phone and with a groan, slumped down beside the phone booth. He rested his head against the back of the phone booth. His head was beginning to ache phenomenally and his vision began to blur. He growled in the back of his throat and just as he was feeling nauseous, he thought he saw a woman ahead. Blonde little thing, in a shiny black dress just like his Harley used to wear.

Harley, he chucked to himself, probably didn't even own anything vaguely shiny these days. Perhaps he'd fix that later.

* * *

Jonathon Crane was a psychiatrist, not a surgeon, so when Cobbelpot called him and requested he be one, he made sure to let the gentleman know that fact. But Oswald was calling in a favor and during times like these he'd figured he'd best hold up his end of bargains. Harleen was better at it than he was so why wasn't Oswald calling her?

"Because my dear boy, we can't find her. You'll have to do."

With the help of Pamela; who had replied that she was a biologist, not a surgeon, he managed to pull, the bullet out of the Joker's shoulder and bandage some of the burns he acquired. The concussion he'd gotten kept him mildly sedated and about as pliable as a rag doll. For that, Jonathon and Pamela were grateful. He kept bringing up Harley and asking where she was. For a while, Pamela had humored him and told him that she was on her way. But he slowly became more insistant and eventually, Pamela admitted they couldn't find her.

"Where's Harley?" He asked again.

Pam's brow furrowed and she replied softly that she didn't know. They'd tried the apartment and her cell phone but had come to no understanding of where she was. The Joker frowned and sluggishly asked when they'd last seen her.

"This morning. She was just getting ready for a jog when I woke up, and I ended up leaving before she got back," Said Pam resignedly. Her faced twisted into a grimace and left the room to go scour her purse. Pulling out her cell phone she quickly checked messages. Nothing. Swearing to herself she dialed Harley's number again.

Nothing.

She left another message, this time laced with both care and anger before aggressively closing the cell phone.

Where was she?

* * *

Harley awoke to the sounds of men congratulating themselves.

She was still on the floor, in what she assumed was a sticky mess of her own blood. It wasn't as if it had pooled around her, but it was there and it told her that her head injury would need some looking at after this. She waited, listening to the men around her proclaiming that they'd taken care of both clowns at once.

He was dead. And they, these men, had killed him.

Harley felt something twist inside her and snap.

A hand gripped her and flipped her on her front. There was no use pretending that she was unconscious anymore. The men looked average, and although she didn't recognize most of them, the one she did recognize told her everything she needed to know. He was Italian, and one of the Maroni thugs. The boys whistled at her and suggested they show her a good time before doing her in.

Harley laughed at them. Cackles reverberating throughout the warehouse space. One thug moved to pick her up off the floor, gripped the thick straps of her dress and hauling her to her feet. She threw her head back and laughed again before reaching into his coat and pulling out the gun he kept holstered. Thugs were constant. They kept the same gun, in the same places all the time. There wasn't any creativity in them.

She quickly shot the first one up through the underside of his chin and maneuver him so he could be a meat shield to hide behind. The second and third one barely knew what was happening when she took them out, both taking bullets in the chest. The gun was empty and she quickly tossed it aside and forced the dead man she was holding onto the remaining thug. The Italian.

He stumbled, catching the falling dead man while Harley wrench the gun out of his hand, pistol whipping him before he hit the ground. The man cried out and Harley tossed the gun away when she noticed a pipe covered in blood a few feet away. Picking it up, she hurried back over and smashed it down on the Italian's leg.

"Do you want to know why, exactly, I was the Jokers girlfriend? Hm?" Harley said evenly. The man shook his head in pain and she brought the pipe down once again on his foot.

"It was because I could keep up. It was also because I wasn't afraid to get my hand dirty." She brought the pipe down again on his knee after kicking the dead man off of him.

"Now, since you're the only one left and I'm the pretty girl holding the pipe. You're going to tell me everything." Harley said coldly.

* * *

Harley dragged herself back into the apartment and collapsed on the floor beside the kitchen table. The thug had spilled everything to her and once she was satisfied, she'd beaten his brain in with the pipe. She was sore, tired and the evening sawed through her reserve.

The weeping started not long after that and continued for what felt like a long time. Once she was finished she wiped her tears with her hands and dragged her way over to the side table, where swiping a tissue from the box caused her to jog the answering machine. The loud beep filled the room while Harley tried to wipe away the tears and blood. The first few messages were of Pamela, asking Harley where she was. Harley mentally cursed herself for worrying Pam, but made no move to pick up the phone.

The next message was more urgent, asking her why he cell phone wasn't turned on at a time like this.

The message after that told Harley that she was needed down at the Iceburg. The Joker was hurt, and asking for her. Harley choked on her sob and quickly replayed the message. She hauled herself up and out the door again, running.

When Harley made it to the Penguin's hideout, she was greeted with shock and silence. She supposed she looked like quite the spectacle, covered in dirt, blood and viscera. Her hair was bloddied and matted where the first fellow clocked her with that pipe and she was sure she had both a black eye and a split lip. However, none of this mattered. Pam rushed over, begging Harley to tell her if she was ok. Harley gave a slight nod and asked where the Joker was. Pamela gestured towards the backroom.

The swinging open of the door roused him and when Harley stepped in and a slight smile twitched onto his face.

"Sweetheart.. .you alright?" He asked sluggishly, gesturing for her to come closer. Harley approached the bed, pulled up a chair and sat down in it. Harley leaned over in the chair and pressed her cheek to his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to the labored breathing and felt one of his hand snake into her hair.

"Yes, Puddin'."


End file.
